


some minor complications

by stormwarnings



Series: tolkien gen week 2020 [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Day Seven, Free Stuff, M/M, Yes you read that right, aka thranduil being a good dad, and realize it is much more complicated than they expected, legolas and gimli try to get married, more silvan elves and fae lore, thranduil and gimli bonding??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwarnings/pseuds/stormwarnings
Summary: Gimli blinked again. He looked down at his drink, and decided he might need a little more. Finally, he said, “Is it complicated?”“Oh, assuredly,” Thranduil told him, which was not comforting.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Thranduil, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil
Series: tolkien gen week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820518
Comments: 7
Kudos: 160
Collections: Tolkien Gen Week 2020





	some minor complications

**Author's Note:**

> this is,,, very rough, and i dont feel like i did it right? but longgg day and ya know day seven of [tolkien gen week](https://tolkiengenweek.tumblr.com/) which was free space and i wanted to expand on this so here we are

“Here is the issue,” Thranduil said to Gimli, pouring him a considerable amount of wine.

Gimli’s heart sank low, because he had known this was coming since Legolas and he had returned to Mirkwood and announced their intent to marry. And while certainly Thranduil had been very welcoming lately, and while certainly Gimli had been endeavoring to let go of his prejudices, he still was not surprised. “That I am a dwarf.”

Thranduil snorted, a most undignified sound that Gimli had not been expecting. “My,” he hesitated, seemingly unsure of what, exactly, to call Gimli. “Well, suffice to say that is the _least_ of our issues.”

Gimli had faced many monsters. He had seen the Watcher in the Water before the gates of Khazad-dûm, had faced the treason of Isengard, had fought before the Black Gates of Mordor themselves. But somehow, this left yet more dread in his heart. “What?”

Thranduil sighed and leaned forward. “You are going to need that drink.”

Gimli blinked, and decided that the Elvenking had already had many chances to poison him, so he may as well try his luck. He picked up the glass and took a large swallow.

Thranduil steepled his fingers. “I am sure you have heard about my son’s mother.”

Gimli was not ready for a heart-to-heart with the father of his intended, but he supposed he didn’t really have a choice. “Yes,” he replied carefully, for he had indeed heard tales of the Elvenqueen. Legolas talked about her with love and reverence, and while Gimli knew not where she was now, he did wish he’d had a chance to meet her.

“There are customs,” Thranduil said. “There are the customs of my ancestors, the Sindar. Those, I am sure you know of. I believe we can…” He trailed off, and there was an obvious struggle to keep the distaste off his face. “I believe we can…merge those with your own traditions.”

Gimli tried his very best not to be offended. “We can find a way.” They would find a way.

Thranduil soldiered on. “But I ask, and here I must be very careful. What do you know of my son’s Silvan heritage?”

Gimli’s mind flashed back – to the beautiful golden flecks in his elf’s eyes, to the feathers and wooden beads braided into his hair (and indeed, Legolas now carried a silver bead of Gimli’s, and Gimli carried a wooden bead of his), to the day in Fangorn when Legolas had stood in the river for hours, seemingly dead if not for the rise and fall of his chest. He had not woken until Treebeard came to pull him out, and his later explanation had left Gimli with more questions than answers. (Daft elf, always talking in circles. But Gimli supposed that an explanation of the clan politics of his own race would not be much easier.)

“I know some,” Gimli said. “Why does it matter?”

“Silvan traditions are very important,” Thranduil told him, and Gimli was trying very hard to ignore the slight condescension. “My wife was a…she was in a very unique position. Well, no, that is not a good place to start.” He stopped, with a look of frustration that, were their situation not so absurd, would have made Gimli laugh. “Would that she were here to help explain. She knew so much more than I.”

Gimli did not know what to do with that. “I know there are three courts,” he offered after a minute.

Thranduil nodded. “Yes, three courts. The Silvans, the Hunt, and, well, the other.”

Gimli waited for Thranduil to go on. When he didn’t, Gimli asked, “So what does that matter for a wedding?”

Gimli knew what the elven way of true marriage was, and that most of the ceremonies of the wedding were simply for show. He desperately hoped that the Silvan traditions Thranduil meant were not related to the act of marriage, as that would quickly make this conversation much more uncomfortable.

“I am sure that you know there are different groups of elves.”

Gimli didn’t exactly, but he gestured for Thranduil to go on.

“Within the Silvan folk, as they are the court that tends to be the most present in the forest, there are different…hm, I do not know what the most direct translation would be. Spirit-kin, blood-kin – both would be correct. There are groups within the elves that are collectively known as the Silvans, as you might have rings within rings.”

This made sense. Gimli nodded.

“There are many groups, and they all tend to have different views on the same traditions. Generally, however, each group has a name in connection to the creatures or trees that they feel the most…the most, spirit-kin, too.”

“Ah,” Gimli said. “So not unlike my Firebeard ancestry?”

“Close,” replied Thranduil. “But in much more detail. There are those of the glimmering scales, and the fish in the streams. There are those of the feathered wing, of the birds that soar in the day, and those that hunt in the night. There are they of the hunters, and those of the grass-feeders, and many more besides. It is distinctly difficult to explain, without using the proper words in the Silvan language, and it is distinctly difficult to understand the intricate bonds, especially when neither of us are true Silvans. But needless to say, there are many groups, and while some may begin to take on tiny characteristics of their spirit-kin, they do not _become_ the animals; they are still elves. Of course, some do. Some hear the call of the Hunt, and take on too much of it, and the heightened connection to the life around them begins a transformation.”

Gimli blinked.

“That is the Hunt,” Thranduil continued. “Even were they our own family, we might no longer recognize them, and they not recognize us.” He was saddened again, and so took a long drink, and by Durin, Gimli could not believe how outrageous this entire situation was.

Thranduil continued. “But the point is that Legolas my son has his mother’s ancestry. And she was of four different kins, and besides that she earned the throne through her deeds of fortitude. So you see, when we married, we had to balance the traditions of all four groups, and satisfy mine own lineage besides. And Legolas as Prince, though he may never be the Elvenking since the Silvan decide their leader (and I do not believe Legolas wants this throne anyway), Legolas as Prince must too satisfy his heritage.”

Gimli blinked again. He looked down at his drink, and decided he might need a little more. Finally, he said, “Is it complicated?”

“Oh, assuredly,” Thranduil told him, which was not comforting. “And we must find a way to also please the dwarves.” Gimli opened his mouth to be offended, but Thranduil waved a dismissive hand at him. “I have no doubt your traditions are just as important and intricate and sensitive, and of course we will honor them, do you think I want a war with your people? It is just that both you and my son have somehow managed to make a match that, while politically advantageous, is going to be fiendishly complicated to plan, and also horrendously difficult to ensure that nobody gets offended.”

Gimli waited a minute to be sure that Thranduil was done ranting, and then realized he had absolutely no clue what to say. “Sorry,” he said stiffly, then, “I’m sure that my mother would be happy to help you.”

Thranduil looked at him across the table, and raised one sharp, blond eyebrow. “Would she?”

Gimli thought about Thranduil, who was talking civilly to Gimli simply because Legolas had asked him to. He thought of his mother, who worked in the Guild Halls, bartering and haggling, but always respectful.

“Yes,” Gimli said, with renewed confidence. “In fact, I think she might enjoy it.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](https://stormwarnings.tumblr.com/) if you liked it :))


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